Consulting Spy
by Pomc
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is recruited by his brother and country to find the once presumed dead Moriarty. On this mission with him is Agent Lestrade and an interesting John Watson. Will they be able to fulfill their mission, or die trying? First fic. Please give me a chance.


**Author's Notes: This is my first Sherlock fic. Hope you guys enjoy it. Please give me a chance, rate and reviews!**

Special thanks to: My friend Djory who proof read the story.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Belong to BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and its rightful owner.

Consulting Spy

Ch.1

Sherlock was stretched down on his leather sofa, hands under his chin with his eyes closed. It had become his usual posture when he's accessing his mind palace. His breathing was soft and relaxed; only the sound of a clock ticking with a soft drizzling of the rain could be heard in the background.

There was no case to occupied his mind at the moment so he use this time to clean off his hard drive, getting rid of unnecessary and useless information that clogged up his mind. It makes it hard to get to the useful stuffs, so he clean it out every now and then. Normal people tend to feel their heads with rubbish information that aren't useful at all, it must be so quiet in their tiny little heads. Ordinary. Boring.

He was in process of deleting the information about the solar system that he acquired from his last case when he heard the definite sound of the front door clicked from downstairs, followed by heavy footsteps and a soft thud trotting up the stairs.

Perching up his head, he listened more carefully to find out who was intruding in his flat. Heavy footsteps, accompanied by a soft thudding. Umbrella. Mycroft. He let out a groan before settling back down on his sofa. What does he want this time?, he thought. The git needed to stop coming to him with boring cases, usually concerned with politics, something that he held no interest in.

The footsteps stopped, the door swung open. Mycroft was in his usual three-piece suit and a red tie, leaning casually against his soaked black umbrella. There are small wet patches on his shoulders but otherwise, he's dry. There was an air of superiority about the way he held himself and the fact that his face is devoid of any emotions.

"Sherlock." He stated simply.

Sherlock opened his eyes but didn't look at him, his face not hiding his annoyance, and huffed out "What do you want, Mycroft? I'm busy."

Mycroft walked over to the small fireplace to the right of the flat and sat down on a cushioned chair near the mantle place. He stared blankly to the seat opposite of him and shifted his eye over on Sherlock who was still staring at the ceiling, looking bored and annoyed. Too long of a pause. Hesitation. No. Anxious? Possible. Something is disturbing him. What political mess did he make now? Before Sherlock could deduce further, Mycroft breathe in slowly before a word escaped his mouth "Moriarty."

Suddenly everything fell into silence in the flat except for the sound of the rain outside and the ticking of the clock. Even Sherlock froze in his place. It couldn't be what he thought he heard. Minutes ticked by before Sherlock said "What?" He is now sitting up on the sofa, shoulder tensed, gazing intensely on his brother, trying to deduce whatever he could from the man's posture but Mycroft was anything but easy to read. He couldn't detect anything from his body language rather than the fact that he's somewhat anxious about the situation.

Mycroft held his gaze longer, trying to decipher Sherlock's reaction. Surprise. Curiosity. He sighed, "Moriarty. He's not dead."

Something in Sherlock snapped and his eyes widened for a fraction, giving away his guarded expression before it went back to its original state. "Not possible." His tone was cold and confident, feigning the surprise reaction from earlier. Mycroft shifted slightly in his seat, indecisive of how to proceed with the news. "We caught a sight of him from one of our agents' report. He's not dead, Sherlock," he repeated.

Minutes lingered by, Mycroft knew Sherlock was trying to process the information together, looking for gaps, holes, and possibilities. Moriarty "died" a month ago. Shot himself on the rooftop of St. Bart and in front of one Sherlock Holmes. He and Sherlock reached the final problem of their game, but Sherlock had won; Moriarty taking his life instead of being captured. His empire fell down right afterwards.

Sherlock Holmes became the famous consulting detective who took down the world's only consulting criminal. Mycroft and his team successfully captured and flooded out the rest of Moriarty's men, all except Sebastian Moran, but they're working their ways to it. They even made sure that the body was indeed Jim Moriarty's, they conducted a thorough autopsy on the body.

"Where?" Sherlock asked. He knew why Mycroft came here and what he wanted. Mycroft replied "Italy. Last we spotted him." Sherlock stored the data away, without wasting any time he asked straight out. "When?"

"A week ago. You need to be de-briefed about the situation further but not here." Sherlock nodded in understanding. He stared into a blank space for sometimes, assessing how bad their situation is before he said "Moran?"

Mycroft sighed "We're still looking for him.", he confessed. He then added with a nod "Yes, we suspect him to be behind Moriarty's fake death." Moran was Moriarty's right hand man, it would be the only logical assumption to make that he would be the one helping Moriarty in faking his death.

Sherlock knew he needed to access his mind palace before he can deduce anything further. He wondered how much time he has before Mycroft send him out in the field "When am I due to leave?"

The older Holmes glanced once at his mobile phone, replied "In 10 hours. They are already waiting for us at headquarters." He typed out something quickly, pocketed it back "I don't like this.", he confessed.

Sherlock stopped short, but he snorted at the remark "Don't be ridiculous, Mycroft. If you don't want me to pursue him, you wouldn't come here in the first place. It's logical that you came to me since I possess most information about Moriarty."

Mycroft stared back at his younger brother "You may find it hard to believe, dear brother, but you are my family." Sherlock was struck by how sincere it sounded, but his only reply was another snort. Mycroft just didn't want to upset Mummy for sending his younger brother after the consulting criminal. He went near the hanger to get his long coat and winded his blue scarf around his neck.

Without glancing back at Mycroft, he went directly across the street to the black car. There were a few raindrops on his hair and scarf, but he didn't mind the rain. He stepped in the car to find his brother's assistant typing on her phone. She looked up at him and went back to typing.

Later, Mycroft joined him and the car started rolling. "I assume you know where we're going." he stated simply. Sherlock huff out an irritate sigh "Yes. It would be pointless to put it on me and don't even think about injections." Mycroft didn't reply and went back at staring out the window. They both knew that the location of the headquarter is important and that no civilian should know about it but Sherlock was right, it would be pointless to put the bag on him since he practically had London memorized and drugging him would only make things worse.

The car stopped once they reach a tall white building, with high Ionic columns and pediments which signified that it was a Roman architecture. There were low black fences that surrounded the building, along with parked bicycles. Sherlock wasn't surprised once they reached the building, he suspected that the Diogenes Club served more than just to contain the most unsociable men in town together just for reading. Sherlock found this place comfortable from time to time. Calm. Peaceful. Quiet. It was an ideal place to access his mind palace. The older Holmes lead the way into the club, ignoring gentlemen who sat in chairs reading newspapers.

They walked further down the hallway and stopped in front of a wooden door. There was an aluminum keypad on the right which Mycroft quickly jammed his fingers into it, entering in the password. The pad retreated itself in after a soft click and a small screen appeared. Mycroft stepped into the front and his eye was scanned. Green light flashed, followed by a monotone female voice "Mycroft Holmes. Identification 4-2-3-6-2-6-R. Access granted."

The door slid open to reveal a lift. Both Holmes stepped in and Mycroft push to floor number 0. The lift dinged softly and the door opened, bright white light seeped through and Sherlock blinked to adjust to it. The room smelled just like any other office; dry, humid, a whiff of coffee along with bleach.

There are people constantly walking, mostly with files and folders in their hands. They're all dressed in formal wear, suits and ties. No one stopped to greet them but most of the staff was staring at him. As he walked by, he scanned over the crowd and let his mind work. The man to his left; married, two children, a dog, wife cheating on him with the trainer at the gym. The woman to his right; single, frequents the clubs, heavy drinker. The older man behind her is going through a divorce; addicted to caffeine and porn. Boring, he thought.

Mycroft let him into the room with a table in the middle and several chairs all around. There's only a man staring at the table, his finger swiping information across the board, which looked up once they both entered the room. His hair was mostly silver, hence the fact that he is in his mid-forties. He's in black suit and there's a tan line in his left ring finger. Divorced then. Recently. Used to smoke. Ah, Lestrade. He met the man on occasions; Mycroft usually send him to check up on Sherlock during some of his cases.

Mycroft nodded in greeting "Agent Lestrade."

Lestrade replied "Mr. Holmes. They told me this is priority and that you requested for me specifically." He looked at Sherlock "I can see why now." He was confused at first about why the agency has pulled him while he was dealing with the complications in the Dubai case. They only told him it was priority and that Mycroft Holmes requested him before they send him down here along with all the information about the mission.

"Yes. Where's agent Watson?" Mycroft wanted to get this de-brief done as soon as possible so they can go over the details.

Lestrade replied "He's on his way." Glancing at the watch on his wrist, "He should be here in 5."

Mycroft nodded in acknowledgement. Watson?, Sherlock thought. He doesn't know that one for sure. Not Mycroft's usual men, so who is he?

"I guess I don't need to introduce you two since you both know each other already." Mycroft added.

They both looked at each other "No. Of course I know who my handler is."

Sherlock stated. "I'm not your handler." Lestrade looked irritated but otherwise didn't say anything else. Sherlock tolerated Lestrade more than most of Mycroft's men, because he usually minded his own business and saw that the Work is important to Sherlock. He's not incompetent like most of the other agents and sometimes even gave useful insights to his cases.

A door clicked open and all eyes turn on a figure that stepped into the room. He was short, five six to be exact. He has blonde hair with a hint of gray, clad in black jacket and a beige jumper. Blue eyes looked up at Mycroft in confusion. "Sir? I was told to wrap up my mission as soon as possible, and they sent me back straight here. They told me you request specifically for me, Mr. Holmes?" He was never requested before, not on such a short notice anyways. His gaze found Sherlock and he furrowed his eyebrows but then moved on to recognize Lestrade.

His eyes roam over the blonde man, trying to deduce everything about the man. Single. Three days stubble. Haven't slept in two days, although got some sleep during the two or three hours flight he just got off. Hair cut, military stand, used to serve then. Dispatched probably due to the fact that he got shot on…left, yes, left shoulder. Surgeon's hand. Army doctor. Recruited right after he was sent home, hence single and not much of a family tie. No attachments meant easier to work as a field agent.

"Yes, agent Watson, I requested specifically for you. This mission is top priority. Please have a seat so we can start the de-briefing." Mycroft stated simply, he sank back into a chair and gestured Lestrade to read out the information. Lestrade raised an eyebrow at Watson who simply shook his head, they worked together before and are good friends with one another but they didn't know why Mycroft wanted them on the mission together. They technically don't work in the same area. Watson is a field agent who work on mostly class B missions while he was reassigned to do desk work for about half a year now.

Sighing, Lestrade pulled up the information on the table. Pictures, files, and information flooded throughout. "James Moriarty, consulting criminal. Committed suicide on the rooftops of St. Bart a month ago in presence of Sherlock Holmes." He quickly looked at Sherlock whose face was blank, giving out no reactions to the news. "Body was found and proved to be his. However, one of our agents spotted and successfully took a photo of him in Venice." He pulled out a blurry photo of a man wearing a cap. "We have reasons to believe that Sebastian Moran helped him fake his death and probably knows the current location of Moriarty."

Another file pulled up showing records and information about Moran. Mycroft looked at the three of them, "Your mission is to find Moriarty and extract every piece of information about his remaining contacts. After that, we will flood out his remaining web of criminal activities." He pulled out another file up on the screen "This is all the information we have on Moriarty and Moran. Each of you will have an untraceable phone along with anything else you may need."

"You will only contact us through the phones. It is possible that Moriarty may be able to hack into our system, to avoid this please use your phones only when it is an absolute necessity. Otherwise, we will be contacting you all in our own ways." He breathed in before his face became serious, "This is top priority. It means that we want Moriarty alive or at least until we have gotten through all of his contacts. As for Moran, he is far too dangerous to take our chances with since he has military training and proved to be an excellent marksman.

Mycroft pulled up two more files on the screen, "We have two more of our agents on standby in Venice, and you need to contact them once you reach your destination."

He looked back up at Watson "Watson, I need you to pick a technician to go with you on the mission. I know that most of them don't work on fields, but I trust you to pick the right one." Watson stared at him, biting his lower lip in concentration. He doesn't want to bring a technician with them because they don't do field works but he has no choice since Mycroft told him to pick. "Hooper, sir. I pick Hooper."

Mycroft nodded "As I thought. I already got her down at the lab waiting for you. I assume you both need to pick out some stuff before your flight in six hours."

The two agents nodded "Gentlemen, please excuse me and my brother." They both got up, exchanging glances that indicate they will have a long talk down at the lab. Mycroft turned his chair around to face Sherlock. "Everything you need to know is in the files. You can trust Watson and Lestrade, and even Hooper. You will need to report back in once you reach Venice. Oh, and try not to cause too much trouble."

Sherlock huffed out a breath "I know, Mycroft. Procedures. Boring. I'm going over to the lab." Sherlock got up from the chair without saying anything else to his brother but Mycroft stopped him.

"This is dangerous, Sherlock. It isn't some sort of game anymore, he will want revenge. Trust only the three agents with you, I won't be able to help you once you're out there." Mycroft gave him one last look before he got up himself, slipped pass through Sherlock and out of the room.

Sherlock made his way to the lab and as he passed by the window of the lab, he saw Watson and Lestrade in deep discussion. Probably about the mission and him. There's a girl with them who was in the process of packing out few items into a briefcase.

He pulled the door open and stepped in. Blue eyes met his in intense gaze "Mr. Holmes. We haven't been properly introduced. I'm agent Watson." The man held out his hand and Sherlock shook it "Sherlock, please." The blonde man nodded before he continued "We are to pick out some essential items before we leave. Molly will show you how they work if you have questions. Lestrade and I are going to pick out some firearms in the room next door." Sherlock nodded and turned to examine the room.

The small man vanished from the room but Lestrade hung back, "Sherlock, don't cause any trouble and try not to break Molly before we go out on the field."

Sherlock groaned in reply, ignoring him. He tried to concentrate on the information about Moriarty, but he couldn't help but take interest in Watson. He looked normal at first but he knows there's something underneath that layer or else Mycroft wouldn't have specifically assigned him to the mission. He understood why Mycroft picked Lestrade but not this ordinary looking ex-military doctor. He decided that he needed more data for further deductions, perhaps he would find out more during the flight.

The firearm room was blanched white and divided into sections according to categories. Handguns. Sniper rifles. Assault rifles. Shotguns. And additional specialized items. Watson went to the far left corner of the room to start browsing through the handgun section. Scanning his eyes through them, he tried to pick out the one gun he was most familiar with. Ah, the Sig Sauer P226. It was what was issued to him during his time in Afghanistan; he picked it up and cocked the gun, feeling the similar textures on his hand. Satisfied, he dropped it in the bag he brought with him.

Glock 17, that one would be convenient for Sherlock. He didn't know if the man knows how to use guns or not but it's better than nothing. Sherlock Holmes, he had heard of him before, the famous detective who took out the consulting criminal. He also found the man intriguing from the first glance, tall, sharp dressed, confident. The man himself looked better in person than the pictures in the newspaper. After many pints with Lestrade, he learned a thing or two about the detective. Greg would complain to him now and then about Sherlock Holmes; how the man is brilliant but can be ignorant about something like who the prime minister is. Greg told him that Sherlock indulged himself in cases because he got off on it, to him it was a game, a puzzle to be solved.

John doesn't have much to say to that. After all, who was he to say anything? He's the man who took on this job because he got off on it from the adrenaline: from being shot at to chasing down a target, it healed his limp. That's probably one thing he has in common with Sherlock Holmes, he chuckled softly.

Shaking his head to focus on his task, he picked out another two for himself before he set out to the sniper rifle section. He wasn't sure what he needed but he read the file on Moran before and knew that Moran was a good marksman. He needed to be ready if he had to take him down. He went over and pulled out a silver box that he had become acquainted with in the past couple of months. Opening it, he smiled slightly at its contents and ran his hand over the two rifles, letting his touch linger in order to the feel of textures beneath his touch.

Molly would get everything else he needed, so he went back to see Lestrade who was just done at the shotgun section. "Never know if you're going to need one of these. I always wanted to try that one out." He smiled and patted his own bag, feeling good to be back for a field job. John offered a smiled "It's good to see you working on the field again, Greg. Although I'm not so sure that this is a good timing."

Greg returned the smile "Me neither, John." He can see that Watson is worried about him but who can blame the man? It was awhile since he had done this. "At least it's better than those files I always have to fill out. I swear I'll lose my mind if Donovan came in for my signature again."

John laughed at that "Last time we went out for a pint, you said it wasn't that bad." Greg just shook his head, a hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth "That was about three months ago, John. Things changed a lot in three months, you know how it is in here." Things do happen a lot in their line of work during a short amount of time. "Yeah, they do." John responded before swinging his pack behind his bag. The two agents trek their way back to the lab, hoping that this mission isn't as bad as it sound.


End file.
